


If the Fates Allow

by runandgo



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: (well at least i hope it's funny!), Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Blow Jobs, Christmas, Christmas songs, Fluff, Getting Together, Holiday Fic Exchange, Holidays, Humor, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:13:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28452189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runandgo/pseuds/runandgo
Summary: Frank needs a favor. Gerard can't say no to Frank. Or, the story of how Christmas carols very nearly ruined Gerard's life.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Gabe Saporta/Mikey Way
Comments: 33
Kudos: 73
Collections: Have Yourself A Merry Little Fic Exchange





	If the Fates Allow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kitoko_kun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitoko_kun/gifts).



> hi all! so this fic is for the "have yourself a merry little fic exchange" event (run by [throwupsparkles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/throwupsparkles), of course)! i had [kitoko_kun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitoko_kun/), which was more than a little intimidating because i'm a BIG fan of their fics. they asked for a fluffy, funny roommates au with mutual pining, and this is what i came up with! i really hope you (and everyone else reading!) like it :') i gave it a little christmas spin just for fun.
> 
> disclaimer: please don't put this anywhere that anyone featured might see it! also, this fic is explicit, so if you're under 18, please click away, thank you.
> 
> a million thanks to the wonderful [takisfuego](https://archiveofourown.org/users/takisfuego) for the last-minute beta... love you more <3333

The morning sun looked really nice, Gerard thought, the way it was streaming in through the thick glass of the window and hitting the bowl of fruit on the counter. (Well, it wasn’t technically the morning sun, it was around one in the afternoon, but Gerard had just gotten up, so it still counted.) The smoke from Gerard’s cigarette hung lazily in the air, combining with dust particles, and making everything a bit hazy and blurry around the edges, like a painting in and of itself.

Actually, the whole scene in the kitchen was very tranquil. For once, the traffic outside wasn’t loud enough to be disruptive, and the only noise was Gerard’s roommate talking on his phone, muffled behind the door to his room. Gerard was just considering fully neglecting both his breakfast and the drawing he’d been meaning to do and sketching a still life when the door banged open and Frank came out, looking a little stressed. He had a cigarette pinched between his pointer finger and his thumb, like it was a joint, and it was already burning as he crossed the room to sit across from Gerard on the other kitchen chair. “Hey. Can I ask you something?” he asked, and ashed into the Batman ashtray on top of the cracked Formica table. 

Gerard took a gulp of his coffee and shrugged. “Sure.” 

“It might sound kind of weird,” Frank warned. 

Gerard raised his eyebrows and gestured at his sketchbook, laying on the table in front of them. It wasn’t like he was always showing it to Frank, but today he was sketching villain designs and the page was mostly ink-black tentacles with spikes instead of suckers. “Weird doesn’t exactly scare me.” 

“Not weird like that,” Frank said and rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall, fully stubbing his cigarette out. “I just — okay. So the other night when I was coming home from work, I kind of, um, I heard you in the shower.” 

Until this moment, Gerard had thought that spit takes were invented for 80s comedy movies, but as they blew their coffee out of their mouth in a panic like some kind of fucked-up dolphin, they were forced to heavily reconsider that misconception. “Uh...” he started, cycling through excuses and trying desperately not to blush. 

“God! No. No.” Frank was definitely a little red around the ears too as he titled his face towards the ceiling and winced. “ _Singing_ , I mean. Singing. In the shower.” 

“Oh.” The initial mortification melted away, but was replaced by an itchy, uncomfortable embarrassment of a different kind. “You were listening to me sing?” 

“I mean, not, not on _purpose_ or anything, I wasn’t being creepy, I just—” Scratching the back of his head, Frank used his free hand to drum out an anxious little tattoo on the countertop. As Gerard watched, he closed his eyes briefly and raised his eyebrows, like he was gathering himself. “You have a really nice voice,” he said, opening them back up and staring at Gerard. 

“Thanks,” Gerard said automatically, more surprised than anything else, too taken-off guard to protest. He took a drag of his cigarette to give himself something to do. 

“I mean, you have to have known that, right?” Frank shook his head. “Anyway. So I just got this assignment. It’s from, like, some local shop or business or something.” Frank worked for a company that wrote soundtracks and scores; ostensibly they did films, but Frank only ever seemed to get assigned to small-time stuff, like commercials and radio spots, from what Gerard could tell. “They want a run of a bunch of different holiday songs for a radio commercial series. Kind of a rush order, you know—” he gestured to the Halloween decorations that they hadn’t bothered taking down even though most of November was almost behind them— “and they have a really tight budget, so they can’t afford to hire, like, anyone famous.” 

“So…” Gerard said slowly. The wheels in his brain were trying to turn but there wasn’t enough coffee to grease them into movement yet. He took another sip, raising his eyebrows archly at Frank and pretending that he totally understood where he was going. 

“So…” Frank mirrored Gerard’s expression back at him, then rolled his eyes without any animosity. “C’mon, dude. _So_ , will you do me a huge, gigantic favor and record the vocals for these?” 

“Oh,” Gerard realized, and set his mug down, keeping his fingers wrapped around it. He hadn’t sang in ages, not since the last band he’d been in with Mikey had broken up, _definitely_ not since he got sober. 

“I know it’s kind of inconvenient,” Frank said, his tone a mixture of apologetic and pleading as he leaned a little closer, across the table, unconsciously. “I can’t pay you much, I just thought, I don’t know, you have a fucking _voice_ and you could come to record with me anytime since you don’t have regular hours either.” 

“You’d pay me?” Gerard asked, raising his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, dude, of course.” Frank frowned a little and nodded, sitting back. “Like I said, not much.” 

“I’m not exactly in the position to be turning down any money,” Gerard said, “especially around the holidays.” 

“I won’t even expect a Christmas present if you do this for me, I swear,” Frank promised, and crossed his heart for good measure. 

“Yeah, okay. Why not.” It was hard not to smile back across the table at Frank when he was beaming like that, so Gerard found himself grinning with one side of his mouth, even though there was a rushing in his ears, like his body was trying to tell him he’d made a mistake. 

“Oh my God. _Thank_ you,” Frank said fervently, and reached across the table to grab Gerard’s hand. The touch shocked him and he noticed that his cigarette had almost burned down to his fingers, so he stubbed it out. “You seriously saved my ass.” 

“No problem,” Gerard said. When he looked back up and at Frank’s face, he blurted, “Do you really think I’m —” _good enough,_ he was going to say, but it felt silly and childish, so he swallowed and redirected his uncertainty into a less blatantly needy question. “You sure you want me?” 

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” Frank took a long drink of his coffee and made a face. “Aw, shit, it’s cold.” When he stood up, he stretched, his back cracking so audibly that it sent a sympathy shiver down Gerard’s spine. He made his way over to the counter and grabbed the coffee pot, refilling his own mug and then Gerard’s, without even asking. _Fuck, I’m a bad roommate,_ Gerard thought semi-hysterically. “I promise, it’ll be super easy, really low-commitment, just a session or two in the studio. We can even start tomorrow, get it out of the way early.” 

“All right,” Gerard said, and heard his own voice coming as if from far away. “That works, yeah.” He could feel himself smiling at Frank as he got up, tucking his sketchbook under his arm, put his plate in the sink, and then nodded towards his room. It was like he was on autopilot, watching things happen instead of making conscious actions, and some part of him was definitely grateful for that. “Well, I got some sketches to work on, so…” 

“Oh, yeah! Yeah, of course,” Frank said, waving a hand. “I’ll text you with the details of how to get to the studio tomorrow. You wanna get dinner tonight, talk about it?” 

“I have plans with Mikey,” Gerard said automatically, over the sound of his heart beating in his ears. 

Shaking his head, Frank closed his eyes and smiled. “Right. Tuesday. Of course.” He opened them again and looked up at Gerard. “Talk to you later tonight.” 

Gerard _knew_ it was awkward to just nod and walk away, but they really didn’t have anything else to say, and they actually held their breath until they were inside their room, when they let it all out in one big sigh, and then the anxiety turned to dread like a rock at the bottom of their chest. 

When Mikey had come home one day a few months ago and said, “I have a guy for you,” Gerard had thought that he meant a _blind date_. It wasn’t until he’d already met Frank, had coffee with him and Mikey, and shot the shit for like an hour that Frank said, “So did you tell him about the place,” and Gerard realized, oh shit, this is a _roommate_ setup. 

Reasonably, it made much more sense. Gerard needed to move out of their parents’ basement; even Mikey, his younger brother, didn’t live there anymore, and though he loved his parents dearly, he was sure that having their 28-year-old child still living in their house was probably not part of their retirement plan. He’d even asked Mikey, casually, a few months back, to keep an ear out for anyone in the city he knew who was looking for a roommate (God knew Mikey could cast a far wider net than Gerard). But… okay, maybe it was a little bit of wishful thinking that he could get set up with one of Mikey’s friends, who were always cool, and talented, and _hot._

Anyway, the point was that by the time Gerard realized his grave mistake, the damage was already done, and a crush had been acquired, whether he liked it or not. (He didn’t. For the record.) 

And now he’d signed up to spend hours alone with Frank. In a dark, small room. With no TV blaring or dishes to be washing or stereo playing to cover that up. As if it wasn’t already bad enough, seeing him in the morning when he was soft and sleep-rumpled, knowing how he liked his coffee and his eggs, even, yes, hearing him in the shower. (The walls were thin, okay?) 

Just thinking of it sent Gerard’s stomach on a roller coaster, first violently downwards with anxiety, then soaring weightlessly with giddy, stupid hope, against his better judgment. He groaned and kicked the door shut and sat down at his drawing table, and when he put his pencil to the paper — he really did have sketches to send along — instead of monsters, all that came out were tattoos, Our Lady of Sorrows and a chainsaw and _i wish i were a ghost_ in small red cursive script like a bracelet, so delicate. It was one of those days where his pencil had a mind of his own, and Gerard filled up three pages before he could get back to what he was actually supposed to be doing. 

* * *

“Gee, that’s awesome, seriously,” Mikey said around his straw at dinner that night. “That you’re singing again, I mean.” 

“It’s not a big deal,” Gerard said, fixing Mikey in a warning glare that said _That means don’t tell Mom about it._. 

“I don’t know.” Now Mikey was pretending not to see that pointed look. “It’s pretty awesome. You’re gonna be on the radio.” 

“Barely.” Rolling his eyes, Gerard took a bite of his chow mein. “I’m just doing Frank a favor, okay? ‘Cause I’m a nice fuckin’ person.” 

“Oh, yeah, that’s it.” Mikey’s boyfriend, Gabe, pushed the rest of a spring roll into his mouth and grinned. “Definitely just that you’re a nice person and not that you wanna fuck him.” Mikey laughed into his Diet Coke and it blew a bubble. 

“Thanks, dude,” Gerard said dryly. He’d moved pretty quickly past the “of course I don’t have a crush” phase, mostly since Mikey saw him trying to flirt with Frank right when they first met. At that point, it was pretty impossible to deny. However, this also meant that Mikey and Gabe knew exactly what was going on, and either offered encouragement (Mikey) or used it in the comedy routine (Gabe). “Anyway, he’s paying me. What would that even, like, mean in your scenario? _Wow, Gerard, thanks for singing. How about we have sex?_ ” 

Gabe paused for a second to consider, then tilted his head to the side. “Yeah, pretty much, I guess.” 

“Well, he is paying me, with actual money, and that’s good, because then maybe I can actually afford to get a present for you this year.” Leaning his elbows on the table, Gerard pointed at Gabe. “So don’t complain about it, okay.” 

“Hey! I’m not complaining, I swear,” Gabe said, holding his hands up. “I think it’s sweet that you have a crush on your roomie. Very rom-com.” 

Gerard narrowed his eyes. “Wasn’t Mikey living with you and Adam when you two started dating?” 

Waving a hand, Gabe swallowed his mouthful, then grinned with one side of his mouth. “No, listen, Mikey’s name wasn’t on the lease, okay? He wasn’t _legally_ our roommate. And that’s what counts in this scenario.” 

“Wow, you’re really making me come off great here,” Mikey said dryly, glancing up from his phone to lift an eyebrow at his boyfriend. 

“Mikey Way doesn’t need to pay rent,” Gabe said. “Mikey Way pays rent in charm, and boyish good looks. At least that’s what Pete told us.” 

“I didn’t live with you guys long enough to have to pay rent,” Mikey pointed out. “It was just for like a week until they could fumigate my apartment. You’re freaking Gee out.” 

“I’m not freaked out,” Gerard lied through their teeth, sweeping away the little pile they’d made out of the straw wrapper they shredded while listening to that story. “You’re good now, Mikes, right?” 

Mikey didn’t even dignify that with a response, just rolled his eyes, his mouth quirked up in his version of a fond smile. “Anyway. You should just make a move on him, you know? I think you’d be good for each other.” 

“I don’t fuckin’... _make moves_ on people, okay? I’m not you. Either of you.” Gerard wrapped his ankles around the feet of his chair and made a frustrated noise. “And if you thought we would be good for each other, then why the fuck would you suggest that we move in together instead?” 

“It’s not _my_ fault that you just wanna put people into little boxes in your brain and never move them around or let them be in two spaces at once.” 

“Well, of course I couldn’t do that, that makes no sense,” Gerard argued. 

“Wait, but you do,” Gabe, who was used to this kind of argument from them, piped up. “I mean, Mikey, you’re Gerard’s brother and his friend, right?” 

In unison, Gerard and Mikey both said, “That doesn’t count,” and Gabe sat back, palms up again. It really didn’t count; Mikey was just different, always had been, and he never messed up Gerard’s system by _existing_. He did seem determined to do it with Frank, though, and it was really annoying. 

“Okay.” Mikey hitched a shoulder up and slid his phone open again. “If you’re not gonna do anything _yourself_ , you know, I’m friends with Frank, I could just —” 

“Mikey, fucking _don’t_ ,” Gerard said sharply, louder than he meant to. He felt himself rocket up till he was upright in his seat, halfway across the table, his elbow precariously close to the dish of General Tso’s tofu that lay growing cold on the table, his hand outstretched towards Mikey’s phone. A few people from neighboring tables were giving him a stink eye, so he cleared his throat and sat back down again after a few excruciating seconds where no one really moved. 

“Okay, I won’t, I swear,” Mikey said, and laid his phone flat on the table. “What are you even so scared of, though, anyway?” 

“Look, you’re the one who got me this apartment in the first place,” Gerard sighed. “I just need to live here for a little bit longer, build up some savings, my credit and shit like that. Maybe I’ll even get hired full-time someplace, I heard DC is doing staff overhaul in a couple weeks, I just — I don’t wanna lose this for whatever reason. And if my roommate was a weirdo who just moved out of his parents’ fuckin’ basement at 28, and then came out and was like, ‘oh, I have a crush on you, I’ve been drawing your tattoos,’ I would definitely be out of there like a bat out of hell, I’ll tell you that much.” He ran his hands over his head, the short hair that he’d just bleached silvery-white. “And if I can’t figure it out, I’ll just, I don’t know. Join the order.” 

“Catholic, Jedi, of the Phoenix, or New World?” Gabe wanted to know. 

“All of the above,” Gerard said grimly. 

* * *

From the moment he laid down to sleep, it was like a double feature in Gerard’s head, alternating between playing him saccharine romantic comedy-style endings where he and Frank confessed mutual attraction and traded kisses in the kitchen over breakfast, and comedies made out of the opposite result, where Frank caught wind of his crush and canceled their job and laughed in his face, resulting in Gerard cringing so hard it felt like his entire body was tensed. He couldn’t decide which side of this he hated more; obviously imagining Frank not reciprocating was painful, but it almost hurt worse to tease himself with the possibility of a happy ending, because he knew it was unlikely. 

After two hours or so of that, Gerard finally rolled out of bed and switched their light on and sat at their desk, bringing the comforter with them. If he wasn’t going to be able to sleep, then he could at least be productive. He was sick of drawing, sick of thinking in pictures, so instead he flipped open his notebook and started to add story notes. There were a lot of ideas inside the notebook — Gerard was always having ideas that he started and stopped, but he liked to write them down so he could cannibalize them later, strip them for parts. Lately, he’d been toying with the concept of this group of superheroes, a family. If there was ever a night to try and hammer that one into shape, even just as a distraction, well, tonight was it. For a brief, beautiful period of time, he immersed himself in that universe and forgot all about his romantic woes (and the accompanying embarrassment at even having a situation in his life that could be labeled _romantic woes_ ). 

And then all of a sudden, Gerard woke up, his cheek plastered against his notebook, a small pool of drool on the page, his shoulders and neck crying out in pain from the awkward position. The sun was high in the sky, but it wasn’t past noon, yet, at least, confirmed by a quick glance over to his clock radio. “Well, I got to sleep,” he said to no one in particular, and peeled himself off the paper. In the mirror on the desk, he caught sight of himself; dark circles, hair flattened on one side, and over the lines pressed into his skin by sleep, there were letters in his own handwriting, transferred from the page. 

In short, Gerard was fervently grateful that he had plenty of time before he had to get to the studio. 

First, though, he was desperate for more sleep, and so despite all of the parts of his appearance that he’d like to wash off, he crawled back into bed. This time, it was a lot easier to fall asleep, but his dreams weren’t exactly reassuring. 

He was in the studio, or at least how he imagined the studio would be, with Frank, but he couldn’t make any noise; every time he opened his mouth, it was as if he was underwater. Frank was getting increasingly annoyed, but no matter how hard Gerard yelled, nothing would come out. Then, because of dream logic, Gerard guessed, he decided to scream “I’m in love with you,” into the mic — and at that second his voice started working again. Thankfully, after that, the Kool-Aid Man burst through the wall, and everything got too crazy for Frank to respond, but Gerard still woke up about an hour later in a panicked sweat before he remembered that it was just a dream and got a rush of relief so strong he briefly felt like he was floating. 

The shower was on, Gerard could hear the water clanking through the pipes, so he laid in bed and tried very, very hard to not think about what Frank could possibly be doing in there other than just getting clean. When he heard the water shut off and then the door to Frank’s bedroom close a few seconds later, he knew the coast was clear, and he crept carefully into the bathroom to clean up. Fuck, his shoulders and his neck really did hurt like a bitch, so he stood underneath the spray until their building’s old water heater gave out and it started to run cold, and did some more pointed Not Thinking About Things He Shouldn’t Be Thinking About. 

At some point, the front door swung open and shut — Frank leaving for work. Gerard was supposed to meet him in about four hours, and as he got out of the shower and started to towel off his hair, he was sure it would crawl by, and uncertain whether he wanted six PM to come sooner or if he wanted to stop time before it could ever happen. Somehow, though, the hours seemed to evaporate into thin air, and before they knew it, Gerard found themself stepping off the subway and climbing the stairs to see, right there, the studio space where Frank recorded most everything he needed. He’d been here once or twice, to drop off keys and such, or to say hi to Ray, who owned the space and who knew Gerard and Mikey both from back in the day — had actually been in a band with them — but he’d never come here with… intent. Musical intent. 

When he pushed open the door, the bell tinkled, and Ray looked up at him from the front desk. He had a pair of headphones on, hooked up to a small device plugged into a guitar on his lap, and his hair poofed out from behind them. “Hey, Gerard,” he smiled broadly. “Frankie’s in the back. You want me to let him know you’re here? Did he forget something at home again?” 

“No, um, actually, I’m here to help him.” Gerard rocked forward on their toes and relaxed their shoulders as much as they could. “I’m gonna sing a little for some project he has.” 

“Really? Gerard, that’s awesome,” Ray beamed. It would almost be disconcerting if it wasn’t so warm. “Hey, you go ahead back, and if you guys need anything, just let me know, okay? Frank usually stays pretty late and locks up behind himself, but you know, I live upstairs, I’m easy to find.” 

“Thank you, thanks, Ray,” Gerard said, and felt a little better. Ray had actually heard him sing, not just in the shower, and still seemed excited about the project, and that had to count for something. He pushed open the frosted-glass door to the back of the studio and headed into the hallway, trying to find something resembling a spring in his step. 

When he reached the actual recording spaces, he found Frank behind a drum set, in workout shorts and a t-shirt turned inside out, sweaty and panting and completely, disarmingly attractive. Gerard took a few seconds to breathe deeply and think about that time his professor made him sharpen two hundred pencils before he trusted himself to actually enter the room. 

“Oh, hey,” Frank said breathlessly, pulling the headphones down until they hung around his neck. He gathered both the drumsticks in his hand and stretched, flexing his legs — Gerard could see the Misfits design on his calf move over the subtle muscle there. “I was just tracking some drums and stuff. To give you a beat, you know? I thought, what I have so far is just like, some pretty basic piano chords to keep you in key and everything, and then once you track the vocals, I can record the other stuff. Add a little to it, depending on how it turns out. That sound doable?” 

“I guess,” Gerard said, dropping his bag at the door and unwinding his scarf from around his neck. “I mean, you’re the expert, right?” Around the lump in their throat, they managed a tight but sincere smile at Frank. 

In return, Frank got a funny expression on his face, like a mix of pride and a self-deprecating reaction. His ears went red — which Gerard attempted to not go to pieces over, but fuck, it was cute — and he ducked his head a little as an answer. “You about ready?” 

“Ready as I’ll fuckin’ ever be, I guess,” Gerard mumbled. In truth, he kind of felt like he was about to vibrate out of his own skin, he was so nervous, but he wanted to at least maintain the pretense of coolness. 

“Okay. I’ll, um, I’ll go in the booth and keep an eye on stuff from there. Do you need to warm up?” 

“I’ve never done it before,” Gerard admitted. “So guess not.” 

Narrowing his eyes, Frank folded his arms. “Oh, fuck, you’re one of those people who has an amazing voice, like, right after rolling out of bed, right? Forget the, the way you leave ink stains on the counter, and the leaving all the chip bags unrolled so they get all soggy, _that’s_ gonna be what makes me kick you out.” 

Something like adrenaline was flooding Gerard now, replacing the anxiety. “What about you, leaving your dirty plates and shit in your room, you know?” 

“Glass houses, my friend,” Frank said, over his shoulder as he started towards the door to the booth. “Glass motherfucking houses.” 

This time, the heart-pounding sensation in Gerard’s chest was significantly more enjoyable. Slipping the headphones on, Gerard stepped towards the center of the room, where there was a mic hanging down with an attached pop filter. Frank appeared in his line of vision, behind the board in the booth, flipping switches and looking intensely concentrated, so Gerard took a few moments to look around. There was the drumset and a few extra percussion bits; no fewer than three guitars and a bass all lined up in a stand, with pedals stored underneath; and a big, clunky electric keyboard in one corner. It was intimidating and exhilarating all at once. 

Noise crackled into the headphones, and Gerard winced until it died out, replaced by Frank’s voice. “Hey! Hey, Gee, can you hear me?” 

“Yeah,” Gerard said into the mic. “I can hear you fine.” 

“Okay. Good. You sound kinda… hm…” Frank trailed off, and Gerard saw him bend low over the board, sliding a few gauges, flipping a switch or two. “Can you, like, test the mic?” His headphones must have been the size of Russian earmuffs, Gerard thought, as Frank mimed leaning closer. His voice was cracky and tinny in Gerard’s ears. “Like, sing a little.” 

“What should I sing?” 

“I don’t know. Uh. Maybe some Christmas songs, I guess? What’s your favorite?” 

“I like the old stuff. I’ve always kinda wanted to do old Christmas songs with a punk flair. I think it would be real cool to do a cover of Santa Baby, but you know, with power chords and, like, a super tight 6/8 drumbeat. Like, unexpected, new kinda shit.” Feeling more than a little silly, and wishing he had anything resembling the ability to shut himself up, Gerard stepped closer to the mic, till he felt like he could pitch forward the littlest bit and touch the pop filter with his nose. He started singing, and as soon as he did, he closed his eyes; it was almost automatic. “ _Santa, baby, slip a sable under the tree for me… Been an awful good girl. Santa, baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight._ ” He hummed the little guitar lick that followed the verses, surprised at how easy it was to get into it, especially without having to watch Frank. “ _Santa, baby, a ‘54 convertible too, light blue… I’ll wait up for you, dear—_ ” 

“Okay, got it!” came Frank’s extremely chipper reply. “I, uh, I think we’re ready.” 

His eyes flying open, Gerard nodded. “Oh. Okay. So where do we start, I guess?” The lights were dim in the studio, but he could just make out Frank, whose eyes were resolutely trained on the controls in front of him. He must have had to make a lot of adjustments or whatever, because he was not looking up at Gerard at all. 

“Um,” came the reply. “We have a couple… I think they want ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,’ ‘White Christmas,’ ‘It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas,’ ‘Let It Snow,’ and ‘Winter Wonderland.’ And we’re both about to be saying the word ‘Christmas’ like ten million times more than usual, just a warning. It’s gonna sound like a made-up word.” Gerard snorted, then covered his mouth, as Frank’s laugh in return echoed in his ears. “So whichever you want to start with, I’m good with, just let me know. We’ll do your vocals and then I’ll come out and add in guitar and shit. You’re welcome to stick around, if you want.” 

“That would be cool, yeah,” Gerard said calmly, glad that the pop filter was hiding the huge and very uncool smile that had taken over his face. 

* * *

The actual recording of Gerard’s vocals happened startlingly fast. They didn’t need full songs, just a verse and a chorus from each one — a lot of the actual file would be instrumental, Frank explained — which definitely shortened the session. But what actually made it go by so quickly was that it was _fun_. Working with Frank like this was intoxicating; it seemed like they were on the same page, like they could almost finish each other’s sentences, and when they didn’t have the same thought, one brought up a totally new idea that the other liked, and that helped the song. So much of Gerard’s day was spent inside his own head, turning single ideas over and over again, that working like this with someone else was breathlessly exciting. 

“You think that was fun,” Frank said around the mouth of his beer bottle as they sat on the floor, “wait ‘til we do the backing stuff. If you still wanna stay, of course, I mean, it’s fine if you’d rather just go home.” 

“You fucking kidding?” Gerard shook their head, screwing the cap back onto their Diet Coke. “This is the most fun I’ve had forever, dude.” 

“I _know,_ ” Frank acknowledged, his grin getting wide like a little kid, where it almost looked like it hurt his face. “Most of the time I work on my own, or like, with a client, it’s not like this. Even when I do work with other musicians, they’re always so, I don’t know. _Serious._ They don’t want to actually have fun with it. Which sucks so much. Just because we’re using it for something business-related doesn’t mean it can’t have passion and heart.” He laughed ruefully and picked up the pizza from the grease-stained plate balanced on his lap. “Ugh. I can, like, hear my boss sighing at me for that.” 

“No, no, you’re totally right,” Gerard said, earnest, crossing his legs and taking a bite of his own dinner. “That was what I hated about being a fucking intern. Like, I was so full of ideas, you know? But I didn’t have any experience, so they were basically just like, shut the fuck up and make copies.” He chewed for a second, then paused. “Actually, I had this one idea for a band, right? Old-timey. They did a lot of Christmas performances and they kind of dressed like mimes, in big scarves with black stripes and everything. A lot of their songs were about…” Gerard laughed, he couldn’t help it. “About, um, having your face be on fire. I made them my Christmas card a few years back. I wanted to do a little zine about them, like a fake career retrospective up until their untimely deaths.” 

“I’m assuming in a fire?” 

“No, that’s the best part,” Gerard grinned. “They died in a train crash on the way to a performance. God, I haven’t thought about them in forever. The Peppermint Scarves, they were called. I should dig that stuff out again.” 

“So you don’t regret quitting?” Frank asked softly. 

“Nah.” They shook their head. 

Silence blanketed the room for a few moments, till Frank cleared his throat and reached over for his guitar, propped up against the wall. “Well. You have a backup career in music, I swear. I mean, you’re already easier to work with than 90 percent of the other artists I’ve collaborated with. It’s true,” he said, when Gerard opened his mouth to argue. 

“Thanks,” Gerard grinned. 

Frank flashed him a small smile in return. “Wanna figure the rest of this out?” 

The second when Frank pressed a button and Gerard’s voice started echoing inside the booth was maybe one of the weirdest moments in Gerard’s life, preceded only by meeting Grant Morrison and only being able to think about a certain piece of sigil magic. He couldn’t keep his face neutral, even when he could hear Frank laughing at the expressions that came over him. 

“Look, we’ve got a lot of options here,” Frank said when he’d finished, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “We could go for something more classic, you know?” He played the clip again — Gerard heard his own voice singing, _Have yourself a merry little Christmas_ — and started playing, waterfalling arpeggios, airy and warm behind the vocals. After the chorus ended, Frank stopped it and flipped a few switches on his guitar. “Or we could try something way different.” This time, when the vocals came in, he played sharp, short chords on the upbeats, sounding like ska or reggae, and there was a drumbeat as well. When it finished this time, he looked across at Gerard, raised his eyebrows. 

“That’s fucking sick,” Gerard said, which didn’t even begin to cover it. He rolled his chair a little closer to Frank to examine the guitar, which elicited another small laugh. When his knees bumped into Frank’s, neither of them moved away, and a little thrill wriggled up Gerard’s spine, icy cold. 

A knock at the door cleared the atmosphere abruptly, though, and as the door opened, they jumped apart. For some reason, Gerard broke out in a sweat, like he got caught doing something he shouldn’t have been, and the disappointment followed. _It’s probably good,_ he told himself firmly as Ray poked his head in. _There’s no point in getting hopeful._

“Hey, guys,” Ray said, balancing the pizza box on his hip and holding the door open with his other shoulder. “I’m going up to bed. Frankie, can you lock up when you’re done?” 

“Yeah, sure, of course,” Frank nodded. He was hugging his guitar close to his chest, leaning his head against the neck. 

“If you guys need anything or whatever, just come upstairs, bang on my door. I’ll wake up.” 

“I think we’ll be okay. And I won’t play any more drums, I promise.” 

“Thanks,” Ray chuckled. “Good luck, guys.” His footsteps retreated into the hallway and the door fell closed, clicking shut behind him. 

For a brief second, there was an awkward silence, and then Frank cleared his throat. “Um. Yeah, anyway, so… which did you like better?” He scooched his chair over to the control board and the computer, but then beckoned Gerard over, and Gerard went, that almost drunken hope ballooning in his chest unbidden again. 

* * *

This, Gerard thought, had to be what it felt like to come out of a Vulcan mind-meld. When Frank handed him a pair of headphones to listen to the final mix, it was almost disconcerting, like emerging from the depths of the ocean, like he was getting the bends or something. They’d been working so hard together, just because it came so naturally, that Gerard had forgotten pretty much everything else. He hadn’t checked the clock in hours, but he could see now that it was blinking _3:14_ in the corner of the computer screen. 

The final product hadn’t really ended up being like either of the examples Frank had played; it was still slow and softer, “like the Carpenters’ version,” as Gerard had suggested, but it had syncopation, too, some jazz-style riffs, some thrumming chords underneath that kept it from being too standard. As it played around them, with Gerard’s voice echoing in layered harmonies, Gerard half-expected soft Christmas string lights to pop on in the low studio light. 

Next to him, Frank was nodding softly, his fingers moving into chords, as if he didn’t even realize he was doing it. Gerard’s voice faded out and the instrumental came in, the part that would be covered up by some kind of advertisement. That was a crying shame, it really was, because as Gerard listened, it left him breathless, open and wanting. It was so tender and careful, every note wrapping around him only to slip away in the next few seconds. The air was heavy with it, and with the energy between them. It was the same feeling as when something brushed very close to Gerard’s face, the way all his nerves would light up at the touch to the fine hairs there, except this was even more internal, like it came not just from his nerves or his skin but from every part of him, every atom. He realized that he was staring at Frank, watching him, with his head tilted back and his eyes half-lidded, listening, and he’d never been more beautiful to Gerard. 

“What?” Frank broke off, pulling one earphone off. His face was lit all up one side in the blue glow of the computer screen. 

“I’m gonna do something really fucking stupid,” Gerard said, and licked his lips nervously. 

Frank drew his brows together and laughed quizzically. “What do you m—” 

And before he could finish, before Gerard could lose his nerve, he leaned in and kissed him square on his smiling mouth, as Frank’s lips came together to form the “m.” 

It was a short and entirely unremarkable kiss by every usual standard, but for Gerard, it was like time had stopped in the few seconds their lips were pressed together. He pulled away and found himself looking Frank right in the face, suddenly, with nothing to say. The song had ended at some point, leaving them quiet in the studio. 

There was a beat of silence that went by so slowly Gerard could hear the heating system in shuddering motion, and then Frank shifted forward and grabbed him on either side of his face and drew him in. This was a red-letter kiss; this was the kind of kiss people wrote songs about. 

“I thought I was making shit up,” Frank said against Gerard’s mouth when they finally broke apart. “I thought, no fucking way, man.” 

“Frankie,” Gerard said, pulling back, “there are only four people I would have done this — sung Christmas songs — for. My grandma, Mikey, Ray, and you.” He ticked them off on his fingers and had to hold back a shiver when Frank took his hands gently, one in each of his. 

“Isn’t that almost everyone you talk to?” Frank asked. He was holding back a smile. 

“Don’t be a fuckin’ asshole, okay, I just kissed you.” Gerard rolled his eyes and leaned his forehead against Frank’s. 

“Yeah, you did,” Frank said. “If you wanted to do it again…” 

So Gerard did, this time opening his mouth. He felt Frank squeeze his hands and respond in kind, his tongue sliding gently over Gerard’s lips. It was dizzying; Gerard wasn’t a blushing virgin, but it had been a second, and he certainly didn’t remember kissing feeling like this. 

“What brought this on?” Frank murmured, moving away from Gerard’s mouth to push himself slightly out of his seat and trail a line of kisses across Gerard’s face, up over his cheekbones, one on each eyelid, places he’d never been kissed so deliberately before. 

“I just couldn’t stand it any more,” Gerard said honestly, tilted his face into Frank’s touch. “I mean — I guess it was what you were saying, earlier, you know?” He took Frank’s hand and kissed his palm, and across from him, Frank sat back down fully again and looked at him curiously. “Passion and heart. I just, fuck, Frankie, that’s you. You’re the most passionate person I know, the person who’s the most full of heart. And that fucking matters.” 

That earned him another searing kiss, Frank pulling him closer until their chairs crashed together, Gerard’s knee into hard plastic. “Fuck,” he said, but it came out half a gasp. 

“You okay?” Frank murmured, and even that little break in the kissing was too much; Gerard sealed their mouths together again as an answer and let his fingers tangle at the back of Frank’s head. His hair was getting long, curling softly at the nape of his neck. 

It was almost hard to breathe, the air was so thick and warm, and it felt like they were sharing it, breathing in tandem, some weird kind of symbiosis. Frank slid a hand up, under Gerard’s t-shirt, and gripped his waist. “Fuck, you’re freezing,” he whispered, and Gerard felt himself break out in goosebumps, because Frank’s hand was so deliciously warm on his skin. It moved up to caress his back, then trailed down along his spine, and Gerard realized he was getting hard, his breaths labored in between connections of their lips. He let himself kiss down along Frank’s jaw and to his neck and licked at the ink there like he was tasting it. 

“Gerard, fuck,” Frank bit off, and let his head fall back, giving access. “God. You sound fucking gorgeous, you know?” Gerard was glad he was occupied otherwise because he was definitely blushing. No one had ever talked to him like this during sex before. “And before, you know when I said I heard you singing —” Gerard didn’t need to see Frank to know he was grinning — “well, I could hear you doing other shit in the shower too, you know.” 

“Sorry,” Gerard said, a little embarrassed, but mostly past the point of caring. 

“Don’t be,” Frank said firmly. His pulse jumped under Gerard’s tongue. “I’m glad you can make noise now.” He pulled Gerard up, gently, and looked in his eyes, rubbing circles with his thumb where his hand was still resting. “I want you to, okay? I wanna hear you.” 

Gerard nodded, then tugged at the hem of Frank’s shirt. The self-consciousness had almost totally evaporated, replaced by an urgent drive to be closer, to feel skin on skin. “I wanna _see_ you,” he said, and his voice cracked with want. “Please, Frankie.” 

Frank nodded and yanked his shirt off by the back collar; he’d put on a quarter-zip over his worn old t-shirt, and he managed to get them both off in one go. Gerard had seen him shirtless in passing once or twice, eating cereal in the kitchen in the morning or coming out of the shower, but it wasn’t the same. Here, they could look and _touch_ , so they did, lightly ghosting over the chest piece, the skin underneath. 

“Fair’s fair,” Frank breathed out, and well, Gerard couldn’t argue with that. Carefully, he pulled his own shirt off, and then Frank closed the gap between them again and pressed their mouths together once more, except this time there was so much more contact that it made Gerard’s head spin. 

“Gonna eat you up,” Frank said, and he must have meant it literally, because the next second, he sank down to his knees between Gerard’s legs, balancing with a hand on either of their thighs, and unzipped their pants, pulling them down around their ankles. As carefully as he could, Gerard kicked them the rest of the way off, which really, was impossible to do without a degree of awkwardness. Once that was taken care of, Frank looked up from under his eyelashes at Gerard. “Is this okay?” he asked. 

“Yeah, um, yeah,” Gerard managed to say in the understatement of the century, and barely had time to process what the fuck was happening before Frank reached inside his underwear and then his hand was on Gerard’s cock, sure and quick, a little rough with callouses. Even that didn’t last long, though, and Frank was all gas and no brakes, because the next thing Gerard knew was Frank’s mouth on him, hot and wet, moving achingly slow down his length and then back up again. 

It was all Gerard could do to remember to breathe. He moaned, loudly, and felt Frank hum in appreciation, a very strange but not at all unpleasant sensation. “Frankie, that feels…” He took a big, shuddering gasp, feeling like he couldn’t get enough air. Frank pulled off and then sank down on him again, this time curling two fingers around Gerard’s cock and sliding them up to meet his mouth in the middle. 

The next few minutes were all Gerard white-knuckling the seat on the chair on either side of himself, and trying not to move more than shallowly rocking into Frank’s mouth, and breathing ragged and fast, grounded by Frank’s touch either on his cock or his thighs. It felt natural when Frank came up for air, pulled Gerard forward by the hips until he was perched on the edge of the chair, and spread his legs apart even further. “Can I finger you?” he asked, his voice wrecked. “Do you, is that —” 

“ _Yes,_ Jesus, yes, I just… I don’t have anything with me,” Gerard said, unbelieving of his luck, hushed and still, not wanting to break the soft, slow-burning glow they were enveloped in. It felt like something that he would be expected to apologize for in a normal scenario, but nothing about this was normal. He was thrilled he hadn’t, like, puked on the floor or something; the type of person to carry condoms and lube with him, he was not. 

“That’s where you’re lucky, ‘cause I do.” Frank leaned out to the side and pointed to the table. “Can you reach my wallet, baby?” 

_Well, fuck._ Gerard clambered off of their chair as quickly as they could manage without tripping and cracking their head on the table, grabbed the worn leather wallet from the edge of the table, and handed it back to Frank, who had gotten back into his chair. His knees were all red and pebbled from the carpet, and he’d kicked his shorts off, so Gerard could see even better how hard he was through his boxer briefs, and then in full Technicolor glory, too, as he pulled himself out of the front pocket and stroked himself a few times. If he was showing off, it worked. 

“C’mere,” Frank said as an answer, and patted his lap, and Gerard wasn’t about to refuse. Opening the wallet and rifling through it, he pulled out two foil packets and tossed it to the side again. “God, I’m glad Ray sprung for these huge fucking chairs,” he said fervently as Gerard ditched his underwear, throwing them into a pile with his jeans, then perched with a thigh on either side of Frank’s legs. He reached up and grabbed Gerard’s ass and _squeezed_ , and Gerard shuffled a little closer and let his hips rock forwards. He could see his own erection standing up against his belly, so hard he was leaking, but he wasn’t shy about it; even less so when Frank ripped the lube packet open and poured some onto his fingers. He rubbed it between them to warm it up a little bit before reaching around and circling Gerard’s hole, then pushing inside. 

Gerard held his breath and let it out in a whoosh, letting himself sink back a little bit into the pressure. He’d always liked this, liked it hard, and Frank wasn’t fucking around, turning and twisting his finger before adding another. His hand trailed around till he was holding Gerard steady by his hip, and it was driving Gerard insane, to be guided back on Frank’s fingers like that. 

“You can go — nngh. You can go faster,” Gerard gasped quietly, rolling his hips, trying to find the right angle. 

“Can I?” Frank laughed, lowly, sweetly, but obliged, crooking his fingers, scissoring them inside Gerard. “You want another?” 

“Yeah,” Gerard said. His hair was sticking to his face with sweat, but when Frank pushed in the third finger and thrust them together, he completely forgot, seeing stars for a second and moaning. 

“Shit, Gee,” Frank swore, and let himself slide out. After a few seconds of frantic fishing, he found the condom and tore it open with his non-lubey hand and his teeth. 

“Let me do it, I haven’t even fuckin’ touched you yet, ‘s not fair,” Gerard said. He took the condom and wriggled it out of the package, then rolled it on, throwing in a few gratuitous strokes, until Frank grit his teeth and shook his head, grabbing at Gerard’s wrist. 

“Ready?” Frank asked. He brought his clean hand up and just held the side of Gerard’s face for a second, rubbing over his cheekbones. The expression on his face was hard to read but his eyes, so dark and big, were reflecting the tiny orange pinpoints of the low light. 

Gerard nodded and found Frank’s cock with his hand, lining it up, then sank down fully until they were flush together, his pale skin against Frank’s tattooed legs. It was a shivery sensation, to be so fully interlocked. “I’ve wanted this,” they said suddenly, unable to keep themself silent when Frank was under them like this. “Wanted it for so long, Frank, fuck.” 

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it plenty,” Frank admitted, his eyes fluttering shut, “but I — this is better. God, this is _so_ much better.” 

Gerard shifted his weight the tiniest bit, accidentally, and heard Frank breathe sharply in. “Do that again,” he said, and Gerard did, rocking his hips, his cock sliding against Frank’s stomach. In turn, Frank fucked upwards as much as he could, bracing himself against the arm of the chair, his legs flexing, and then they had a rhythm going, as quickly as that, as easily as they’d worked together earlier. It was just shy of overwhelming, the sharp drag of Frank inside him, the friction against Gerard’s cock every time he was pushed forwards, the feeling of Frank mouthing at his neck, scraping lightly with his teeth. 

From the beginning, Gerard knew he wasn’t going to last very long; he’d been close from Frank’s mouth earlier, and he was being pulled along in the tide with the sensation now. He let himself surrender to the roaring noise around him, screwing his face up and increasing his speed as much as he could. Frank must have noticed, because the next thing Gerard felt was his hand around their cock, keeping slow and steady time with the rest of their movements. “Come on, come on,” Frank muttered fervently. His skin was sweaty to the touch, and his breath was warm where it touched Gerard’s neck, and Gerard thought _This is real, it’s really happening,_ and came, shaking, over Frank’s hand, between their bodies. 

Just a few seconds later, he felt Frank cry out against his skin and pulse inside him, his movements stilling. The noise faded and then they were just holding each other, panting, in the glowing moody light. 

Eventually, Gerard broke the silence, his mouth against the crown of Frank’s head. “I hope you know where Ray keeps the cleaning stuff,” he muttered, “or else I don’t know if I can look him in the eye next time I see him.” 

Frank laughed, his voice a little lower in his chest. “It’s under the bathroom sink, don’t worry.” He grit his teeth as Gerard slid backwards and off Frank’s cock, his legs kind of wobbly. “You can use my t-shirt to wipe off, I have the sweatshirt.” So Gerard did, giving himself a cursory clean-off before walking it over to Frank. He kissed him when he got there, because he could, and that power was something Gerard didn’t think he was going to get tired of. 

“You know,” Frank said, jerking his chin at the sofa in the corner, “that unfolds into a decent futon.” 

Gerard goggled at him. “You’re telling me this _now?_ After I rode you in a fucking office chair? Jesus, Frankie.” 

“Hey,” Frank grinned. “You weren’t complaining.” 

“Well, no, but my back is gonna have something to say.” 

“Oh, poor baby.” Frank snorted. “I’ll rub it for you, okay?” 

That seemed like a fair deal, all things considered. “What are we gonna tell Ray?” Gerard asked. 

“I mean. It’s awfully late,” Frank said. “And it’s cold. I think it might even be snowing out there.” 

“A November miracle,” Gerard said somberly. 

“Yeah, exactly.” Frank hugged himself in a mock chill, then made his way over to the couch. “Brr. Way too late and cold to take the subway home.” 

“You think he’ll be mad?” 

“God, no, dude, he’s like, always begging me to stay over when it’s past midnight. He’s like a dad without any kids yet. Besides, even if he was pissed, he’d forget about it when I show him the track we finished.” 

“Ray’ll like it?” Gerard asked, smiling. The happiness of the writing session was almost better than the afterglow of sex, to be completely honest, and the rush of happy chemicals from both of them were combining to make his eyes heavy. 

“I mean, he’s got ears, right?” Frank lifted the edge of the sofa until it sprung flat, then reached underneath and retrieved two blankets, one of which he spread over it. “He’ll like it.” 

“Thanks, Frankie.” Gerard yawned so loud his ears popped, then sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. There was an answering creak next to him as Frank plopped beside him. “Can you grab my cell phone for me? I wanna set an alarm.” 

“For the first time in your life,” Frank teased, but handed Gerard the phone from inside the pile of his clothes. “Ray probably won’t be down here till nine or so.” 

“And we can always go back to the apartment and go to sleep again,” Gerard suggested hopefully, grabbing the other blanket and laying down. It felt so good, he couldn’t help but stretch out. 

Frank grinned and got under the covers next to Gerard, hooking his chin over Gerard’s shoulder. “Yeah. Yeah, we can. That kind of rules.” 

Gerard had more they wanted to say, but it came out as another yawn, and the last thing they heard before falling asleep was Frank humming under his breath. _Someday soon we both will be together..._

And Gerard would take the back pain of not enough sleep on a shitty sofa bed as a trade for waking up in Frank’s arms, over and over and over again.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! i'm really loving all of these events and exchanges, they give me incentive to try new things that i wouldn't have thought of otherwise! if you liked this fic (i hope you did), please consider leaving comments or kudos, because they make my day! also, you can hit me up on tumblr [@bringmoreknives](https://bringmoreknives.tumblr.com/) or on twitter [@heavenhelpsus](https://twitter.com/heavenhelpsus). aaaaaand i know it's a bit late, but happy holidays to everyone, and best wishes for a better new year than the last!


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